


Is There Life On Mars?

by Honey_Rae_Pluto



Series: Short stories [1]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Bullying, Deacury, M/M, Maylor - Freeform, Mental Breakdown, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:49:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27120671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honey_Rae_Pluto/pseuds/Honey_Rae_Pluto
Summary: Brian goes from the head of the police department in 2020, to waking up in 1973; having to work with a team of unlikely officers, trying to find his way around the past he is foreign to, trying to work alongside with the brutalitarian DCI Roger Taylor and trying to solve the crimes he's handed while in this new backwards world.More importantly, he wants to go home, back to what he thinks it the best place for him.
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Freddie Mercury
Series: Short stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979560
Comments: 29
Kudos: 30





	1. It's A God Awful Small Affair

Brian barely had time to shut his eyes when the car hit him.

He certainly didn't have time to move out of the way or brace himself. He didn't have time to think as it hit him, the world turning on its head several times as it darkened into what was only pain.

He knew he'd hit the ground, he could feel it wet under him as he lay, the pain evaporating slowly. 'I'm dying' he thought weakly, trying to orient himself. He had to cling to life. He couldn't let go.

The ground was wet. It was sunny that day so it had to be blood. He couldn't feel any major injuries. Somehow the car hadn't hit him head on?

The detective inspector curled into himself more, testing his limbs; nothing hurt, not like how he'd expect from that sort of impact. Adrenaline? That could block pain right? Brian tried hazily to recall his training. He couldn't hear sirens. Had no one called the police? Wait… he could hear something… music.

He still couldn't open his eyes, too bright in the midday sun. But he recognised the song from his playlist. His phone was still intact and playing Life on Mars. He could still phone for help. He just had to see where it was…

Brian took a few breaths, managing to get onto his knees painfully, hands blindly reaching for his own car as he tried to open his eyes enough to see.

"Come on mate, clear off." A shrill voice followed by a hard grip in the shoulder startled him, "You dumb, deaf or just from Essex?"

Brian squinted up at the man, noticing the police badge glinting in the sunlight first, then the odd seventies clothes, the cigarette hanging from the blond's lips and the clear stench of alcohol coming off the man. Not a policeman then.

"Blimey you actually are off your but." The blond knocked him back, off balancing him to the ground, "Sergeant John Deacon, Fenchurch East and you are…" John didn't wait for an answer, reaching into the car, "Fuck sake."

"What?" Brian looked up, carefully dragging himself to his feet, using the side of his car for help. Not his car. Just the car that was parked next to him.

On the Thames bank.

Nowhere near where he'd been hit.

Brian looked around, it didn't really even look like embankment, and the London eye was nowhere to be seen.

"DC Brian May," John said drily, flinging the badge back into the Austin princess, "They've sent us a fucking dandy."

Brian just stared wide eyed in the window of the car, looking at himself: not in the uniform he'd had on just moments ago, no, now he was in pinstripes and a large collared shirt, just like an extra in a TV show.

"Do you talk? Or am I supposed to call a head doctor?" John glared at him again, "Wakey wake, Mrs May, it's Monday morning and not only are you late for work, you're really not making a good first impression."

"You're…" Brian looked at him, half expecting to get a smack, "Is it Monday?"

"For god's sake, man," John, who he now noticed must've been a good ten years older than him, at least, took a puff of a cigarette he hadn't seen before, "Monday, eighth of April."

"That's not right," Brian frowned, "It's January." 

"Right, you're clearly pissed," John gave him a hard shove against the car, "A night in the cells should sober you up."

Brian wheezed, looking above the car as he was cuffed. It didn't look like an industrial city, no skyscrapers or large advertising screens, no passers by with phones. Nothing.

Was he dreaming? In a coma? Time traveled?

Brian watched the scenery from the back of the car, looking at the old Hillman's and Leyland cars that looked brand new. Briefly he considered taking a photo, his dad would love this sort of thing; the music and cars and all that old shit.

"Says here you’re on transfer from C-Division in Hyde. Detective Inspector." John told him, glancing back at the badge as he drove - in no way looking at the road, “I guess that makes you my boss.” He didn’t sound happy.

Brian frowned, he'd just graduated from inspector two years ago… he needed to find someone he knew.

"I need my mobile."

"Your mobile what?"

"My phone."

"You brought your own telephone from Hyde?"

Brian didn't answer, letting John just weave in and out of traffic, perhaps he'd crash? Maybe he'd wake up then.

No such luck, however. Soon they parked - abandoned the vehicle on double yellows - outside of a building he recognised as his station. It sparked some excitement in him, finally he might find something familiar.

Almost running he followed John inside, ignoring the older man's somewhat homophobic mumblings.

But then his heart sank.

The smell of cheap spirits and tobacco was like a punch to the chest, the swearing and hubbub hit like a second wave.

"Get your duckies in a line," a mousey Indian looking man seemed to heckle rather than say, "John help, now."

John was a lithe but stocky man compared to the two drunks currently trying to get a hold, knocking into Brian as he did so.

It made Brian stop in his tracks, everything did. He knew this building inside and out, straight out of uni he'd started in this as a wooden top, made his way to the actual top: DCI.

But now the officers, who much like the building and others in it; had a brutish expression of people with a stone constantly trapped in their shoe, gave him a hard shove to the desk we're the gentleman from before was still making gestures at John.

"Got another spaz for you Fred," the sergeant announced, Brian damn near corrected the word (but he'd have to correct everything else he'd said up to that point and it seemed frivolous), "Ol' sod is the fucking transfer - reckon a night in should dry him up."

Brian couldn't be kept in, surely? He was an officer, and there was no legal reason. It could ruin his career. "Where’s the Custody Sergea…"

"The Whatty-what-what?" Freddie cut him off, looking less than pleased.

"Who ARE you?" Brian eyed the man, nothing like the one in his actual office. No, this one seemed to be barely twenty with no real conviction or legal practice. But he seemed far less threatening than the rest of them.

"Barbarella, Queen of the Galaxy."

"I don't… I don't understand." Brian looked at him for help, "You… I'm not… I just… this…"

"The cells are full up, Deaks," Freddie relented on the man, looking at John, "Just let him start on the job, you might get a bollocking for talking about a superior like that if he remembers in the morning."

John rolled his eyes, leaving the keys to the cuffs on Freddie's desk and roughly grabbing the coat of a passerby. "I'll get some of these cretins cleared."

Freddie made a face once John was gone. He was about the same age as Brian really (now he could see him properly, a touch younger perhaps, but he had a warmth to him, gently freeing him and leading him to the chair behind the desk.

"I'm DC Freddie Bulsara. Plod’s bringing in your stuff. One of the girls’ll sort out your RTA. Don’t sweat it if you’ve had a couple of stiff ones... Dearie me, you look like you gone ten rounds with Big Henry. Someone needs to take a look at you Boss. You’re as white as a ginger bird’s arse."

"I'm sure Fred could kiss it better," one of the wooden tops joked. Well no, it sounded more sinister that a joke, a cold tone of disapproval in his voice.

Brian shook his head, it was getting too much. Suddenly the noise was smothering, the lights were flickering and the smell was nauseating and people kept touching him and even the air seemed to vibrate around him too close, he didn't have any control of a space he was normally in full power of and it felt like drowning.

"I'm sending him back to Hyde if he's going to be a poofter," the same policeman started, "I've not got time fo-"

"Shut up!" Brian was standing up with dozens of faces looking at him before he knew what was going on. "I don't know who any of you are, but this is my office. I don't know what's going on or where my PC terminal is-"

"You want a constable in?" Freddie asked, a sharp eyebrow raised. "There's a PC Tellman, no one called Terminal."

"This is my department," Brian continued, still holding the room captive with this outbreak, "What the hell have you done with it?"

"I wouldn't have said that, mate." John had a smug knowing expression on his face, leaning casually against the cabinets as he sauntered back in.

Brian turned to see an older blond man staggering out of his office. He put down his hip flask, walking straight towards the new comer. He had a dark look on his face, lighting a woodbine cigarette to blow smoke right into his face.

“Your department?” the room had gone silent, the other police officers forming a horseshoe like spectators at an amphitheatre, about to watch a lion maul someone to death. “I’m DCI Roger Taylor.” 

"Alright then," Brian knew this had to be a dream, he didn't feel altogether there. No, it had to be a dream, he COULDN'T be in the past. And if it was a dream nothing could happen, nothing would hurt him.

"Alright surprise me, what year is it meant to be?"

Roger grabbed him suddenly, Brian suddenly realising he could feel pain, and more importantly, was about to get the shit kicked out of him.

"They reckon you got a concussion. Well I don’t give a tart’s furry cup if half your brains are falling out. You don’t ever waltz into my kingdom acting the king of the jungle."

Brian struggled against him, but was pinned to the wall with little problem despite being taller than his assailant.

"It’s 1973. Almost dinner time. I’m having hoops." Roger told him, just before landing a fist in his face.


	2. The girl with the mousey hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian faces his first case in the 70's, dealing with an absolute lack of standards or methods he's normally used to, as well as what he considers a sub par group of officers, will he be able to solve it?

2017

“Suspect name Colin Raimes,” Brian read out from the ipad in front of him, “so present are the suspect’s Lawyer, Social Worker and Psychiatrist.”

He watched as the boy - well man, he wasn’t that much younger than him, rolled up a cigarette, smirking at him as he did.

“This is a non-smoking area,” Brian told him. He was really trying to act like a DCI, first day on the job under his new title and he needed to show it. “Might I remind you these interviews are filmed.”

There were glances thrown about by the lawyer and psychiatrist, almost as if they were actors on a stage. They definitely had something planned.

“My client is advised by his psychiatrist to rely on certain auto-motive props.”

So they were going to baby him? A murderer? Brian sighed, of course. If they admitted Colin had committed a crime like this they’d have to take responsibility for their failings in looking after him. They’d have to admit the system that was meant to prevent these sorts of people becoming criminals - that assured the public they wouldn’t - didn’t work.

It would be a media scandal.

“Look at these photos Colin. Lauren Chester. Strangled to death in November last year. No sexual assault. Kidnapped. Starved. Held for around 30 hours. Strangled with bootlace.The photos show explicitly the thin welts running around the victim’s throat.” Brian turned the screen of the Ipad to show Colin the photos of the body, making him flinch. Maybe he would crack under the pressure? Brian knew almost impiracly he’d done it.

“You’re upsetting him,” the Psychiatrist shoved the tablet back at him, “He’s very sensitive to imagery.”

Brian clenched his jaw, of course he was. Not like he hadn’t killed someone out of malice and was now just exploiting the cracks in the system. No, clearly he was sensitive.

“Bettina Mitchell. Attacked last Saturday. You said; “fight me and you’ll end up like Lauren.” Your DNA and fingerprints were found all over her body,” Brian continued, Colin had to crack, “Look at this jpeg.The ID picture that witnesses gave us. It matches you exactly.”

Colin just shook his head, shaking, Brian almost wanted to believe him, right until the point he leaned forward away from the lawyer and Psychiatrist and winked.

“This is your diary, Colin,” Brian flipped to more photographs, getting more agitated by this all, “I quote, “I killed her. She’s been killed. I’m a killer. An ace killer.” That particular entry is not awash with ambiguity. Dated November fourth; aday after the murder-”

“Colin’s a first-rate fantasist.”

Brian cut off the lawyer, “So let’s talk about the night of the abduction; November second-”

The boy started kicking off then, kicking the table over and screeching. From somewhere officers came to restrain him. Brian was shoved out of the room, seething as Colin gave him one last look, like he knew he’d won.

“So now what?” Cozy was by his side then, Brian hadn’t heard him approach.

“Now we pretend Colin Raimes isn’t our man. We’ll go back to our best lead; the fibres found under the fingernails of the victim. Definitely synthetic.”

Cozy touched his arm, “I think there’s more to be had from Raimes. Let’s lean on him.”

“And be sued for harassment of a schizophrenic? He’s a fantasist. It’s in his psyche-evaluation.” Brian shook his head. If the system didn’t want results then he was hardly going to get them. Clearly justice wasn’t as concerning as appearances. He might as well be working for Hyacinth Bucket.

“Screw the psyche-evaluation.” Cozy told him firmly, guiding him away, “You used to believe in gut feeling.What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s going on in there Bri?”

“I can’t think about this now.”

“Would it help if we interfaced bi-laterally, cross-referencing our professional and domestic lives? Would that make it easier for you to talk about us splitting up?” Cozy asked, pulling his seat out at his desk. Clearly he wanted to talk about this now.

“I’m going to stand you down from this case Powell. It’s not productive given our personal problems.” Brian told him, standing by his desk awkwardly.

“All right, look, forget us... I have a theory about Raimes. About why he kept the diary-”

“I’ve made my decision-”

“Don’t you even want to know what I’m thinking? My feeling-” 

“Painters have feelings. Poets have feelings. Look around you, what good are feelings in this room?”

***  
He came to feeling foggy, for a moment still involved in his case. What had been his case… what would be? He couldn’t think why he’d dreamed up that memory, it was his first case, brand new at being in charge of the operation. First and last case that got away from him too. 

There had been so much red tape and procedures and admin, they’d been rendered useless. They’d been forced to let Raimes go back out into the streets with no surveillance.

He’d lost Cozy a month later.

He was in the office alone now, body complaining at the pain he felt as he moved, head pounding, very much feeling the battering he’d gotten. Sitting up Brian saw the phone now unmanned. Maybe he could call for help, he could get out of here, talk to someone from the offices.

If he could get a hold of Crystal all the better, the old man was now retired - he’d be free to answer, maybe even help. That’s what he hoped as he turned the dial, immediately being picked up on the other end.

“Operator.”  
“What?” Brian gawked, was this some divine intervention? Some sign? No… no he remembered his grandmother used to say she worked as an operator in the seventies. All just part of this subconscious he’d built.  
“Operator.” the voice - an elderly woman that made him wonder if it actually was his grandmother - asked again, getting impatient.  
“I want a mobile number.”  
“What?”  
“A mobile number. 0770 813—”  
“Is that an international number?”  
“No, it— I... I need you to connect me to a Virgin number.” Brian tried, “A Virgin mobile—”  
“Don't you start that sexy business with me, young man. I can trace this call.” She told him, hanging up angrily.  
Brian let out a slow breath. He had to have made this up, this all had to be some intricate tapestry he’d invented. Felt very bloody intricate though, it felt so real too, the smell of the office, the feeling of the grains on the table, the tone of the phone in his ea-  
“Let's get a second line in. It's an emergency and cross-match blood down. He's slipping into unconsciousness. Brian? Can you hear me? Brian?”  
“Yes… yes! I can hear you! I can hear you!”  
“He’s awake then.” Roger gave him a dry look as he entered the office, Fred and John trailing in after him.  
“Gov, we’ve just had a call,” Freddie handed him the notepad, “Susie Tripper, neck rung like a christmas turkey, down Satchmore Road.”

“Satchmore?” Brian looked up. That’s where Cozy lived, will live. That’s where the Raimes murders happened, “I know that place.”

“Never heard of it.” Roger interrupted. “I’ve got a press release for the Chain bridge robberies, down Miami’s pub. This is May’s problem.”

“Poor girl was starved and kept for around two days.” Freddie continued, putting more grainy photos on his desk, “No sign of sexual assault, she was dead a while when we found her.”

“Did you preserve the crime scene? Dust the body for prints?” Brian asked, already knowing the answer.

“How’d you get prints off of skin?” Freddie gave him a look, the same look of amused worry he’d been giving him before, “Nah, she’s on a slab at the moment, prints from a shoe or something have been taken down the yard; should come back in a fortnight if there's a match.”

“She went missing on the twenty second,” John piped up, brushing Brian aside, “Lads from the yard saw her, says she were giving ol’ Jez down-hill racer, if you know what I mean.”

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose, as the room laughed, taking the evidence away from Freddie before he knocked his coffee onto it. What he wouldn’t give for his old routine back.

“Strangled with something thin, life a wire or a shoelace or sowt,” Freddie finished reading, “Nothing was stolen.”

Brian looked at him wide eyed. Was this what he had to solve to get out? The same crime as before? The first crime he’d ever had but with none of the resources, none of the science and help and team? None of the people stopping him?

Maybe this was it? He’d wake up form this, or get sent back once he worked out who killed the girls, the perfect mystery

Maybe he could save Cozy too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya,
> 
> hope everyone is enjoying this, i'd love to see some feedback, or even asks on my tumblr for this!


	3. But Her Mummy Is Yelling No

“Right, so motives? Any ideas?” Brian looked at a sea of blank expressions. “How do we know nothing was stolen?”

“We don’t think it was robbery, gov,” John told him, not before letting the silence become awkward, “She only had twenty seven pence on her, no one would take that.”

“I would.” 

Brian ignored Freddie, now wasn’t the time for cheap gags. “What if she had notes on her? Killer could’ve taken them.”

“Made of money are you? Who the hell has notes?”

Brian took a breath - ignore them. Just get the job done.

“Where’s the mortuary? We ought to look at the body.”

“Up the road, Deaks can drive us.” Freddie told him, feeling bad about the joking around, he really wasn’t trying to annoy Brian. If anything he wanted to do well, Brian was the only person in his age range, he wanted to get on with him.

Brian still looked a bit shaky once he got to the mortuary, but Freddie still thought he’d just had a concussion, or a hangover. Still - seeing the girl’s dead body only made him look worse.

“Er... garrotted with a... thin cord. No other attack marks, nothing in or around the mouth. What have you learnt from the stomach contents?” Brian braced himself on the side of the table, he hadn’t seen a body like this since his training days, “Someone have a look.”

Freddie elbowed John, who reluctantly lifts the sheet to look at the corpse-

“In the file, in the post-mortem file, Deacon. Look in the file.”

“She wasn't fed for at least a day before she was killed.” Same as the previous murders, same as Cozy? He hoped not. He didn’t want to know exactly what had happened to him, he certainly didn’t want to see it first hand.

Was this some sick joke the universe was playing on him?

“Stop! End! Finish! Come on!” He called up - if he could hear them they could hear him, “Walls wet, er, I can smell the preserving agent, er... soap in the tray, er… I can hear somebody whistling outside.”

What else was there? There had to be a crack, something that wasn’t right. He glanced at Freddie and John. They looked normal. Like photographs from when his dad was young. He just had to find the crack before he found out something he didn’t want to about Cozy.

“You need to get some rest, boss. You just need a large Scotch and a bit of a kip.”

“We'll, er... get a plonk to give you the once-over.” John pulled him back, “Come on.”

* * * 

“No one from the woman’s department could make it, you’ll just have to make do with me,” Freddie let himself in, “No broken bones then? Do you feel like you're gonna heave up?”

“I feel a bit nauseous.”

“You'll do. You've had hangovers worse.” He waggled his finger in front of Brian’s eyes to make sure he was following.

“Are you trained?” Brian asked, at least Freddie was a reasonably calming presence.

“I'm about as qualified as Doctor Kildare.”

Some other reference he didn’t know about. Maybe his dad had showed him it as a child, or it was made up…

Or he’d actually time travelled.

“Freddie, I wasn’t even born in 1973, my parents were four… Hit me.”

“Don't tempt me.” Freddie shook his head.

“Go on.”

“You've been in an accident.”

Brian rolled his eyes, he’d have to go rile up John - or just look at Roger, probably that would be more than enough to get-

“Oh! Shit!” Freddie had punched him hard in the gut, much harder than he had thought the young guy could’ve been capable of. “Fuck.”

“I'm sorry, sir.” Freddie fretted behind him, that wasn’t really helping them become friends.

“Hey, good lad. Prostate probe and no jelly.” Roger was stood in the doorway with a smirk, having clearly walked in at the wrong moment, “Why don't you call it a day, May? I'll drive you to your place.”

“My... place?” Brian managed to get himself upright - that hadn’t really helped him get his mind back, and the sick feeling was worse.

“Yeah, they gave us an address. Unless, of course, um... you're getting a bit of a taste for it in here?” He raised his eyebrows at Freddie, who was by now a deep shade of red, scarpering off.

Brian smoothed out his jacket, making sure his hair wasn’t everywhere - not that he had much success, following Roger down to the car park.

“This guy kills, then, what, he waits another thirty years? Is that why I'm here, because - because that's when he first struck? Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. Loads of sense.”

“I mean, Cozy thought that... that Raimes knew the killer… No, no, his dad would still be in nappies - it can’t be Colin.”

“You don’t shut up, do you?” Roger lit up a cigarette, getting into the car, “And no fannying around with the seatbelt.”

***

Brian looked around the room, the simple bed sit veneer wonderland with dark greeny brown flowery wallpaper and nasty leather chairs. There was a wooden box against the wall, which he took down to find a lumpy thin mattressed bed.

“Your stuffs already here.” Roger pointed to the two suitcases and record player that sat in the corner. “Here’s your key.”

“It's not so bad, is it?”

Brian looked around some more, there was a telly set in the corner, like something out of an old film, still had dials and buttons. He pressed one, seeing if anything would work. Which it did.

The static sound clipped on, buzzing into a picture, one Brian could vaguely recognise.

The fucking news.

“Mr Enoch Powell has called for an increase in taxation to deal with inflation. Mr Powell called for an autumn budget-” Brian switched it off again. This wasn’t news he could possibly know. He had to be making this all up - his brain filling in the gaps for the bits he did know.

“I'm not mad. I'm not.”

“Sound it,” Roger rammed a beer in his face, he clearly had a stocked fridge then. The older man landed himself on the bed, the poor wooden structure creaking and groaning.

“I had an accident and I woke up forty seven years in the past. Now, that either makes me... a time traveller or... a lunatic, or... I'm lying in a hospital bed in 2020 and none of this is real.”

“Fifty years in the future? That's where you're saying you're from?”

“See, Cozy - he was my eh…” he definitely shouldn’t say boyfriend - not in these dark ages, “Colleague… he was killed by the same killer who strangled Susie Tripper yesterday.”

“I think you should go to a hospital and ask them to check you for concussion.”

“Don't you see? It's— it's the same killer in both times.”

“Paranoid delusion, brought about by the accident. It's not a concussion. It's psychological.”

“Fancy words for a drunkard.”

“My mum studied psychology at university - I wasn’t mutton jeff. I'm just saying, I think it's a medical thing and you should sign off sick and see somebody.”

“What if you're my mind telling me this is real?”

“You'll have to work this one out on your own.”

“Thanks. You know, for listening to what I had to say and then not calling the men in the white coats - or beating me up again.”

“Come here,” Roger was more drunk than he’d given him credit for, putting a hand on Brian’s chest, “You're clever enough to know that what you're saying can't be true… Your heart is beating. You’re really here.”

Brian took a breath. Maybe Roger had his moments. 

Maybe he really was here.

“I have to go.” Roger stood up, using him as leverage, taking his unopened beer with him.

“Where?”

“What do you care? I'm not real. As soon as I walk out that door, poof, I'm gone. Here I go. Ready, steady…” Roger walked out, closing the door behind him, “Get some rest.”

***

Brian woke up to the telly, who knows what time in the morning it was. But he certainly hadn’t left it switched on when he went to sleep. Did it switch itself on? Is that something televisions did in these days?

“In module three, we noted that the collective Pythagorean angles embedded in our X-to-N ratio could be derived from the simple numenary "A" as the constant ten and depicted thus.” It was one of those science shows for students, Brian remembered his grandfather saying he watched them. Well he certainly wasn’t going to.

He wanted back into his head - back into his dreams of a normal life.

“But what concerns us most is regulating his breathing. That is why we have to keep the endotracheal tube in place.”

Now Brian looked up, staring at the screen.

“I have to stress to you that Brian is in low responsiveness-” the presenter was looking straight at the camera, straight at him, “- But is not in a persistent vegetative state although he has suffered a severe cranial trauma. But the Glasgow scale does put him at a deep level of coma.”

“Hey! You're talking about me! I'm here, I can hear you, look at me, I'm here!”

“At times, however, he moves. Murmurs.”

Brian raced forward to the screen, kneeling in front of it with both hands on it. He could feel the warm fuzz of electricity under his fingertips.

“He has motor response as though caught up in some sort of... deep REM sleep from which he cannot wake.” the man on the telly got closer to the camera, “This gives us some hope, despite the brain-stem bruising.”

“Hey! Hey! I'm here! Look at me, does this look like low responsiveness to you?! I'm here!”

“Brian?” 

He snapped his fingers at the screen, waving wildly at it - anything to break out of this place.

“Brian?”

“I can hear you, I can hear you!”

“Brian May?”

“Yeah, yeah!”

Now the man was so close to the camera he'd gone out of focus. Brian could see his eyes looking around, just before he stepped back, turning away.

“Wait! No! Wait, don't leave me, I'm in BUPA! Please don't leave me!”

Brian slapped his hands onto the glass again, breathing heavily as the test card came on.

“No! No, please, I'm here! Don't leave me here!” He knew he sounded hysterical, crying against the telly, “Please! Please! Please don't leave me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed,
> 
> Love seeing feedback for this, is you have any asks leave them on my tumblr (Honey-Rae-Pluto),
> 
> xxx


	4. And Her Daddy Has Told Her To Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Sorry for the late update this one took forever! Now the first clue is out, so watch out and read carefully (if you already know don't spoil it!!!), it's still quite difficult at the moment so don't worry if you don't!

“Coz?" Brian opened the door, seeing his ex standing there in the rain of a cold November night, "What's going on?"

"It has to be Raimes, or he has to have known who it was, his house had soundproofing," Cozy pushed past him, "How else would you keep a girl kidnapped for so many hours without drugging or gagging her?"

"If he kept her somewhere else, or if he kept her quiet another way," Brian shook his head, watching tiredly as he dumped a bunch of folders in his desk, "Why are you doing this? I dismissed you from the case."

"Because I'm right," Cozy looked up at him, "You look tired."

"It is three in the morning."

"On a weekend, or are you working those too?" He already knew the answer, "You have to take a step back and think about it after, Brimi. You can't kept doing this."

"Why do you care?"

"I still love you." Cozy told him, not a hint of hesitation in his voice.

"I know. That's why I let you go," Brian didn't dare look at him, "Love doesn't compute well, not in our work."

"You let me go? Or did I give you up?"

***

“Bloody hell, I've seen road accidents more cheerful. Where are you today, here or the planet of the Clangers?”

Brian ignored him, last night hadn’t been good, dreams had plagued whatever sleep he’d managed to get, tormenting him with long buried memories. He certainly wasn’t happy with Roger and his seventies nonsense.

“Didn't know if you were gonna show, boss.” Freddie popped a coffee cup on his desk.

“Where else could I go?”

“Well, we're honoured.” Roger swiped his cup, pulling him down the corridor away from the office, “Right, we've pulled a bird in, Dora Keens. She was the last person to see the victim alive.”

“Is she a suspect?”

“No, just a pain in the arse.”

“Okay. All right. Brief me in full. What do I need to know?”

“She's a pain in the arse!”

“What, so you've handed her in to Lost Property?” Brian nodded at the sign on the door.

“Well, we could use the canteen, but she's a right mouthy bird, this one.” Roger clapped him on the back, necking some of the coffee. HIS coffee. Twat.

“Hang on. You're gonna do the interview in there?”

“Thick walls.” Roger looked at him as if it were oh so obvious that they were handling part of a murder inquest in a fucking lost and found cupboard, handing him the empty cup as he entered the room.

“You had a drink with Susie the night she died, didn't you, Dora?”

“I know you.” she snarled at Roger, “From the picket line. You put the boot into my old man.”

“Oh, happy days.”

“Sod off.”

“Can't, love. This is my esteemed colleague, DI May.”

“Er... hi, Dora. I want you to call me Brian.” he smiled, taking a seat opposite her, “When was the last time you saw Susie?”

“In me dreams.”

“How did she seem that night? Did she... did she mention meeting anyone?”

“She was horny.”

“Did she get into an argument with a... stranger.”

“You know the answer. It's blowing in the wind.” Dora laughed at him. Brian rolled his eyes - was this just how people were back in these days? Was everyone an arsehole?

He didn’t have long to think on it before Roger kicked the desk over, making both himself and the young woman flinch-

“I'm done with this game. Let's play another. Let's play hopscotch or pin the tail on the donkey, you pick, Dora.”

“I want a lawyer.”

“I wanna hump Britt Ekland, what are we gonna do?” Roger got in her face, whispering something in her ear. Brian couldn’t hear it, but from her expression he could tell it wasn’t good.

“Your dad's waiting to take you home.” He said out loud after, offering Dora a hankie to dry her eyes on, the poor girl taking it and bolting.

“What the hell did you say to her?

“Well, you know. Usual. Then banged her up for obstruction. Kids, eh?”

“Where I come from, you'd be looking at suspension.” Brian warned him.

“Really, what, for making a breakthrough? At 11:20, she saw Susie Tripper heading away from the pub, followed by a tall bloke with long hair.”

“The hair under those nails is not human, it's synthetic.”

“Yeah. John told me what happened in the mortuary. Now, if you’re done being … you, I need a drink - tell me there.”

***

Brian ended up following him to the pub, a cramped smelly place called the railway arms, some wooden top officers already enjoying their pints (at lunch time) at the table. Or they were, right up until Roger grabbed them by the scruff of the neck.

“Haven't uniform got their own boozer? You have to rubber-heel mine?”

“Ah, DCI Taylor, mon cherie,” A cheery ginger man, slightly round around the middle and wearing a kind of hideous purple denim dungaree, smiled up at them.

“Who’s the curly?”

“Which part of my subconscious do you hail from?” Brian asked tiredly - the man was a walking stereotype, it was damn near painful to look at how 70’s he was, Brian felt like his brain should have at least put some effort in.

“I like you. I like you.”

“Elton's a good bloke.” Roger told him, well warned him really.

“What're your poisons?” Elton asked, getting some glasses out.

“Tan and bitter. Brian?”

“Diet Coke.” Brian shook his head as they looked at him, of course - hadn’t been invented yet, this was medieval. “I'm just joking. Pint of bitter.”

“Pansy,” Roger mumbled under his breath as the glasses were being filled, “So explain, synthetic fibres, what's that about?”

“All right. The man you're looking for is either wearing thick gloves of some sort, or he's using... a bag, or something, made of coarse material, gets under the nails.”

“You can't know that from one stiff.”

“I've seen another. Look, I'm telling you…” Why was he arguing with him? Again? No, no he had to stop going along with it, this wasn’t real, when he stopped following along he got a sign from the real world, “What does it matter anyway? None of this is real! You're just some... thug who crawled out of some dark little pit in the back of my mind.”

Naturally, Roger grabbed him again, pinning him to the bar. While he may have been taller, he was too wiry to really win this, “You're new. And you've got something big crammed up your jacksie, but don't worry, you'll learn. I may be the sheriff, but I'm a deputy to the law. Now, I don't care if you want to take a swing for me if it makes you feel good, but what I do ask is that you don't hide anything from me. So, have you got a hunch about this case?

“With what I know, I could find this killer.”

“Prove it.”

***

Roger had swung off after a member of the flying squad that had clearly made a deadly mistake entering the Railway arms, so Brian took the opportunity to use the publican’s phone.

“Sorry sir, I've checked and there's no Cozy Powell listed in that area.”

“Then try the number again.” Brian sighed, he needed Coz with him now, he couldn’t solve this last time, how would he do it alone this time? 

“I have no Cozy Powell listed.” the operator insisted.

“Well, just try again!” He snapped, making Elton look over from the bar top.

“There's no need-”

“Forget it.” Brian hung up, putting his head in his hands, “Elton, large whisky, please.”

“Drink ain't gonna fix things… What am I saying? I run a pub! Of course it'll fix things!” Elton slid him a glass, fuller than it should have been.

Brian smiled, this figment wasn’t so bad, “I'm lost, Elton. Really lost.”

“You're not lost, pal. You're where you are. And you have to make the best of it. It's all you can do.” Elton leaned in closer, “Good luck.”

* * *

“To predict what this killer might do next, we have to understand what he's thinking and feeling. The gov has a decent background in psychology.” Brian told the room, the office full of the leading detectives on the case - not that they were particularly anything, offering only a condescending ‘ooh’ at that announcement, and for once Brian understood why Roger hadn’t said anything about it before, and why he was glaring at him now. “Now the victim wasn't gagged. Why didn't he gag her?”

“He needed to see a mouth. The lips. We have to see the things that we value.” Roger answered stiffly, not happy at all - he was about to strangle Brian.

“Now put yourselves in the mind of this man. You're lonely. Every night, you dream of this girl and she's got big eyes, and red, ruby lips. So you go out and you find that girl, and you bring her home. But you don't gag her, 'cause you want to see those ruby lips. But you just can't bring yourself to kiss 'em.”

“You get embarrassed. Angry. You'd start to blame the girl. It's her fault. She's taunting him just by being there.” Roger followed on, starting to think about it himself.

“And then one day, you just snap. Strangle her, using bootlace, and then the cycle starts all over again, with a different girl. And this time, you're positive you're gonna be brave enough to kiss her.”

“Only you won't be.” Roger nodded, “How would he keep her quiet without gagging her?”

“I don't know.”

“All right. Maybe this nutter moved to the area recently. Maybe he's on day release from the loony bin. Maybe there's a new face in the local boozers, let's find out, let's not wait for another skirt to wind up dead. And let's just hope we haven't been led up a blind alley.”

* * * 

“I want Freddie out of the collator's den. It's a waste of flipping time.”

Brian startled awake from his desk, neck aching and a piece of paper sticking to his face, “What? No, no it isn't.”

“Er, sorry, did that sound like a question?”

“I can find this killer.” Brian insisted - he’d put Freddie to go through the names in the records, trying to find anything on Raimes, anything at all. Normally, in a normal era, this would’ve taken a few seconds to search through the database, but no, in this pre-neoliberalist hell hole he had found himself in there was no internet or database or anything. Just an unkempt room of mix matched undated and unorganised papers that would take days to sort through.

“Do you know what, I think you're trying to show me up.”

“Fuck off, Taylor.”

“It's an interesting point you raise. Allow me to retort.” He raises his fist, Brian only just ducking in time - pretty much inviting Roger to grab his arm and twist it behind him, knocking him onto his knees, “Better?”

“I’m going.”

“Not this again.” ROger groaned, letting him go, walking a few steps behind as he left the building.

“Look, somewhere out there, Cozy needs me. My mind can only invent so much detail, you know, so I'm gonna walk until I can't think up any more faces, or streets. I mean, this is just-”

“Just what?”

“This is madness.”

“Look, a few years ago Fred fell off a pier, and... he couldn't remember the name of things. Couldn't tell you what an apple was, or a pencil. Fucking useless. And you know what? He stopped believing in them. And then he got better. And everything seemed real again.”

“I don't know.” Brian slowed his pace, he’d come to realise that these strange pauses in the aggression were Roger’s way of saying sorry. “I know this street, I live in a block of flats that used to be a factory, at the moment it’s probably a mill or something, and I went to school at the local academy, and that sweet shop was owned by a very sweet but very racist old lady called Maxi Forster-”

“Maxi is about your age, Bri, what are you on about?” Roger looked at him, if it weren’t of these little outbursts, the constant back and forth and the undermining, he’d almost like the taller man.

“I used to come here when I was tiny, Grandma brought me to watch the football, and then to the record shop down the corner..” Would that still be there? Brian started walking again, now the football, that was just to spend time with his gran, but the record shop was all him. He hadn’t been in years, but it was there - right in front of him the same as it was in his memory, “I used to come here! I bought my first... Life on Mars, Bowie - it was on a compilation vinyl in 2004.”

He looked around, marvelling - this wasn’t even vintage material, it was newly pressed, all bright colours and unscratched discs, he couldn’t believe it. He picked up the nearest record, Tommy by the Who, smiling as he went to the booth, but something made him stop short - looking around it.

Bingo.

“Brian? What are you doing?” Roger had stopped looking at him like he was going to punch him again, now seeing something click in the younger man’s mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you work anything out then Gov? Do you know what Brian knows?
> 
> Stay tuned to find out!


	5. But Her Friend Is Nowhere To Be Seen

“He doesn't gag them... He doesn't gag them 'cause he wants to kiss them, but if they shout out, he's gonna get caught, so what's he gonna do? ...Strands of material underneath their nails and on their skin.”

Brian picks at the soft cushioned walls of the sound proof booth. “I know where the fibres come from. Soundproofing: He's trying to muffle the room to hide the cries-”

“Gov?” The heavy box of a police radio came to life in Roger’s jacket, John’s voice crackling from within, “Dora Keens's coat was found on rough ground an hour ago.”

“Shit.”

“Sleeve was torn. She was last seen shouting at some bloke loitering in the street, about 9:40 p.m. So, stuff keeping Fred in the collator's office, we need to get out on the street because by your reckoning, we only have a day to find her.”

Roger grabbed Brian by the elbow, pulling him away, heading straight for the police station.

Brian kept up the pace as they went into the car park - naturally they took Roger’s normal austin allegra rather than a panda car, cause that would make sense. “Deacon, what’s the coordinates?”

“The what? How the fuck should I know? Up from the pub: twenty something.” They could hardly make out John’s voice, and Roger was glaring at him instead of watching the road, suddenly swinging the car round screeching in what Brian genuinely thought was a crash at first but - apparently - was parking.

“Oi!” He opened the door, shouting at some kids playing with hoops and sticks, “Anything happens to this motor, and I come over your houses and stamp on all your toys, got it? Good kids.”

Roger went ahead, Brian could smile his apology at them all he wanted, there was a murder investigation to solve and a kidnap to try stop before it became multiple murders, now wasn’t the time for nice.

He went to the first door he reached, slicking his hair back before knocking, “Hello, love. CID.”

“We're looking for this woman, Dora Keens. Approximately five foot two, curly light brown hair, green eyes, fake topaz necklace.” Brian appeared at   
“I don’t know.” an elderly man shrugged, so not this house.

Or the next.

Or the next.

“Hiya, sorry to bother you,” Brian held a photo out to the woman who opened the final door in that street, “We’re looking for-”

“We're looking for a short skinny bird, wears a big coat, lots of gob.”

Not this bloody door either.

***

“Excellent work, ladies and gentlemen.” Roger threw a few pennies at the kids, eating a chip butty as he came back into the car. Brian had gone to try the next two streets, not coming up with anything useful, whereas Roger had found something worth investigating - a chip shop.

“Gov? DI May?” It was Freddie down the radio, perhaps thankfully Roger had stuffed his face too much to answer anything more than a grunt, Brian didn’t know what more of his he could take today.

“I need to speak ... DI May... told me to let him know... the name from his list.”

“Fred, move about a bit.”

“Tell May we've found one of his names in the collator's office. We've found one!” Freddie told him, sounding very proud of himself, “It's one of the names you asked me to find. Raimes. I only found the carbon. It's a statement she made three months ago. Woman in her fifties. Mrs Raimes. Beryl Raimes”

“Beryl Raimes?”

“You gave the name Colin Raimes. so I thought there was a connection.”

“Yeah. She's his grandmother, bring her in.”

* * *

“Oh, that's lovely. What nice boys you are.” Beryl was a sweet old lady, knitting in her handbag and a packet of sweets for all the policemen, apparently not very fazed by the fact she was being questioned. How was it possible someone so docile was the grandmother of a killer?

Of Cozy’s killer?

“Do you want a custard cream, Mrs Raimes?” Roger was being worryingly nice, Brian realised, nodding along as she took the biscuit off of him.

“Mrs Raimes. You made a complaint to the police, about three months ago?”

“I saw a lady policeman. Nice girl. No life for 'em, is it?”

“You came to complain about a neighbour. That's why we have a statement from you on file. The only trouble is, we don't know who it was, or what it was about because our copy got smudged.”

“Have you got Garibaldis?” She looked past him back to Roger.

“Fred, Garibaldis!”

“It's only three months ago, Mrs Raimes.” Brian insisted, “Think back. Please. Think hard.”

“I forget stuff.”

“Mrs Raimes, it's very important. It could be vital that you remember exactly why you came to see us three months ago. Was it a... next-door neighbour who... who you were worried about, or... somebody in your street, somebody visiting, someone upset you. They did something bad, or... or selfish, or dangerous.”

Beryl seemed to get scared, shirking towards Roger.

“How about some pink wafers?” Roger smiled, rubbing her shoulder, looking up at Brian with an icy glare. “I love pink wafers. You know, all of those packets of wafers you get at Christmas.”

“Ooh, they are lovely. Expensive, mind.”

“They are, aren't they?”

“I sometimes get them in for me grandson.”

“I bet that takes a bite out the housekeeping, eh? Fred, run down the canteen, see if we've got any pink wafers.”

“I’ve just brought…” He was out of breath holding a plate of garibaldies, “Gov please?”

“Hang on. Er, sorry, is this helping?” Brian added, “Fred’s not a tea lady.”

“Oh, do you want another cuppa?” Roger seemed to realise, pouring her a fresh cup when she nodded, “Eh. Don't you go worrying yourself about this neighbour business. It's not important at all. Sugar, love?”

“The lad next door. Number twenty.” She poured a bit of the tes into the saucer, looking up in less of a daze now.

“Oh yeah? What about him, my love?”

“Oh, he's playing his record player all night. Bash! Crash! Bam! And he's not even local.”

“So that's why you came to see us.” Brian squinted, “To complain about... the noise from his stereo.”

“And it did the trick, pet. He still lives there, but you can't hear a thing now.”

Both of them sat back, dead end? No… no… Brian looked up, mind ticking away - the sound proofing! He met eyes with Roger who had made the same leap at the same time.

“Backup to 20 Kemmel Road, now!”

* * *

“The suspect is an Edward Kramer.” Roger looked at the taller man from inside the car again, the pair waiting outside the house,“We may need uniformed backup.”

“You will tread carefully. We don't even have a warrant yet.”

Roger wanted to shake his head, Brian may have been clever, but he didn’t seem to actually get anything done ever. Quickly he got out and headed to the door, twatting it in before Brian’s annoying whiny voice could stop him. He’d been right though, the walls were covered in sound proofing, some music playing from a record too.

“Gov, don’t pull at the walls, asbestos.” Brian looked around, the place was fit for abandonment, weeks old post sitting by the door… Including a medical note.

“Asbe what now?” Roger looked at him, “Kramer! Police!”

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing? Shh.”

They heard then the sound of someone gasping, scared. Through the doorway, in another soundproofed room, something was hidden behind a pile of the insulation - or someone.

“Dora? Dora?” Roger watched as Brian knelt down beside her, undoing the ropes at her hands, “It's all right, it's all right, it's all right, it's police, police, we're the police, it's okay, love, we've got you, we've got you. It's okay, it's okay.”

That’s when he sees something dash out of the door.

“Kramer, come here!” He grabs him and throws him against the wall, punching and kicking until the sorry bastard stopped struggling.

Brian let the girl cling to him, sobbing for her parents into his shoulder as Roger beat the shit out of some kid - the other police cars making their way in to make the final arrest. But he didn’t feel like they’d just solved anything, only one thing stuck in his mind: They were right next door.

Cozy had been right, Colin Raimes had used somewhere he knew, the next door flat, it was Cozy that had wanted to investigate but wasn’t granted a warrant.

They’d been one house away - Raimes had taken inspiration and used the old house so close to his grandmothers.

Brian wondered back out as people came in to help Dora, leaning on the wall beside Roger who offered him a cigarette, declining softly. “Kramer'll never go to trial, you know that, don't you? He's certifiable.”

“Nah. Jury'll send that creature down forever.”

“I found a doctor's report. It says he is "seriously disturbed." He's going to a high-security hospital.”

“What, and be mollycoddled, indulged, be a good boy, he'll be out in fifty years. He'll still be odd. You know as well as I do, he'll kill again.”

“Hang on… Oh my God, that's why he doesn't kill for so long,” Brian runs his hands through his hair, “We put him away in hospital, he gets out in fifty years, and then he kills. Then we catch him and then he kidnaps Coz.”

“What are you on about?” Roger rubs his eyes, “Forget the bloody doctor's note. If the jury know they're trying a cold-blooded killer, it's life.”  
“Look, listen, you told me you were a deputy to the law - he’s ill.”

“The law is putting bad people away and you wanna show a court that note?” The blond eyed him carefully, standing up right and heading towards the car, “You’ve got principles.”

“Hang on, Gov, this is important.”

“What, you want another pop at me? You wanna get me suspended? If you like, you can try your hand. And as for this note, I'm making it your call.”  
Brian shook his head, but it was pointless. So would he do it? Condemn an ill psychopath to life for the chance of saving Cozy? Or let him get treatment that he knew wouldn’t work, all so he would kill again?

He looked at the note in his hand, this could mean the difference between life and death for Cozy, between leaving here and staying, between being a good copper and a corrupt one…

Brian slowly closed his hand around it, scrunching it up - if this was all a hallucination, it wouldn’t matter either way.

“Welcome to the team.”

“Thanks. Guv.”

* * *

“What are you doing?!”

Brian was sitting on the edge of the roof of he police building, he hadn’t really known what he’d expected - that he’d solve the case and boom! Back home in time for Strictly, not that it would keep going by any means. He could step forward, that might’ve been the way home all along-

“We all feel like jumping sometimes, Bri.” Freddie teetered towards him carefully, eyes flickering to the edge, “Only we don't. Me and you, because we're not cowards.”

“This is just my mind.”

“Maybe you're here for a reason. To make a difference. Gimme your hand.”

Brian glanced at him, he could just lean forward and fall, it wouldn’t even be difficult… But what if this was actually happening, Freddie would never forgive him, probably he’d not be okay even after years, so, on an off chance, Brian reached for the hand: “What's that on your hands, is that grit?"

“Sand. I was running up here and I fell against the fire bucket.”

“See, why would I imagine that? Why would I bother to put that kind of detail in it?”

“You wouldn't?”

“What should I do, Fred?”

“Stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! 
> 
> I hope you've found the first mystery entertaining, I'd love to see some feedback or ideas on how to carry this on, see if it's readable or too difficult to get or anything, as always my tumblr is open for questions and requests so head over there if you want!
> 
> Love,   
> pluto xx


	6. Now She Walks Through Her Sunken Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New mystery, new problems, old setting

Brian's television is on while he sleeps, the soft buzzing is the only way he can actually get any shut eye these days, but there's nothing on the screen, except Test Card F. 

“Vital signs are stable.” a heart beat monitor joins the warm static of the TV...

“You scared us, Bri. We thought you were losing the will to live.” Was that his mum?

“Give me your hand.” Freddie on the rooftop

“This is just my mind, trying to keep me here.” Brian could hear his own voice, unable to wake himself up or stop the dream, “I'm here. Help me. What should I do, Freddie?”

“ECG signals are getting weaker.”

“Run a second IV…”

“We’re losing him!”

“Stay.”

“Clear!”

Brian jolted awake, sitting up breathing heavily, sweat running off him. He was still there… He was still in the wrong place and the wrong time...

* * *

“Oi, Trent! Get back here!” Roger is surprisingly fast at running for a man who had at best pickled his internal organs, Brian thinks as they chase the man out of the swimming pool baths, sorry sod still in his trunks.

“Right behind you, boss!” Freddie goes barreling past an old woman, making her drop her shopping as he gets closer to the runaway criminal - Brian wasn’t even going to try to catch up with them, might as well help the old lady.

“Sorry lov-”

“Bloody rozzers.” She swatted him hard. Fucking old people.

“You're under arrest, Trent!” Brian can hear Roger shouting, jogging (the closest he was willing to go as far as running was concerned) closer to the scene where Freddie now sat on top of the man’s back with a shy grin on his face, looking at Roger for approval.

Roger gives him a nod, looking back at Trent, “What were you gonna do? Jump in the canal and swim for freedom?”

Freddie moves up a little, giving Brian a space to sit next to him, their criminal bench trying to crawl away even with the pair of them now on his back and Roger’s croc skin shoe on the back of his balls.

“Kim Trent, I'm arresting you on suspicion of armed robbery. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your def— no, that's not it, is it?” Brian had his badge out, looking at Roger for help since helpfully the words weren’t the same as what he knew, “What is it, uh... You have the right to remain silent—”

“You're nicked!” Roger starts to put pressure on his foot, inadvertently lunging over Brian, sort of forcing him to be eye level with… well, “There's no badge down there, Brian. Mind you, does tickle open a few doors, eh? Come on!”

* * *

“This is an abortion of justice.” 

Roger rolled his eyes, ignoring Kim who was still in his swimming trunk in the middle of their office.

“John, get on the blower to "C" Division, "D" Division, tell 'em all that Taylor says they couldn't catch a cold. We got ourselves Kim Trent.”

“Might pin a medal on your chest.” Brian nodded, letting Roger gloat in his departmental victory.

“Never thought of that.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts, boys, 'cause this is fantasy time.” Kim looked at them, “I’ll fuck you over Taylor.”

“Fred, where d'you want this one?”

“Number two is empty, Guv.”

“Hey, you can't put him in there. Two pints of vomit in there this morning.” Brian shook his head, in his world that would’ve been a whole office suspension for just saying that… what was he on about? They just chased the man half naked across the town from the pool, bashed him up a bit and left him in an office with no lawyer or solicitor, they’d all be struck off instantly in his time.

“Oh, didn't know you were running the desk.”

“Come on, you can't put him in with the carrot chunks.” Brian shook his head.

“He'd be delighted to go to the interview though.” Roger shrugged, glancing at Freddie and nodding, “Cell two.”

* * *

Roger watches as Brian decides to be anal about it again. He could see the younger man set out pens and paper and files out in parallel lines on the desk in front of him, adjusting them ever so slightly so they were perfect. God he wanted to flick a pen off of the desk, better yet tilt the desk so it all fell off. He sat back, exchanging a tired glance with Kim, taking out a cigarette, offering one to their interviewee.

“Right. May.”

“Yeah..? Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Roger was glaring into his skull, “Right so… Bookmakers in Baker Road, two days ago. £836 taken from the safe.”

Tasty haul. Best of luck to 'em, whoever they are. Not me. I'm just back in London to visit relatives.”

“You know, if you were Pinocchio, you'd have just poked my eye out.” Roger added, pretending to join in with his laughter so the air was thick with tension.

“You've been spotted recently with your known accomplices. Gordon Bricks — a.k.a. "Brixter" — and Carrick Wilson. Now, we have reason to suspect that you three carried out the Baker Road job on Saturday.”

“I like your manners.” Trent leaned in to play with one of his curls.

“You think this is funny?” Brian gave him a bewildered glance, setting the photos from the file onto the desk for him, “Look at these… These people were beaten and kicked. This woman is in her sixties. This bloke was whipped with knotted rope while he unlocked the safe.”

Kim cast his gaze, flicking the ash off of the end of his cigarette onto them, looking up dismissively, he wasn’t going to play ball.

“We know you did it, Kim. So who were you meeting at the baths? Wilson and Brixter? Planning one last blag before you go?”

“Doing the front crawl ain't a crime, Mr Taylor.”

“You were born, that's the crime.”

“Where's the next robbery? Just tell us.” Brian crossed his arms, “It’s easier if you help us.”

“Look. I admit it. I got form. But honestly boys, I'm just up here to see me auntie.”

“Liar.” Roger sneered, the clear good cop bad cop dynamic coming out on top of it all.

“Can you account for your whereabouts last Saturday?

“Cookery classes. I'm having it off with Fanny Cradock-” Kim felt DI Taylor’s hand wallop across his face, looking back at the blue eyes with a grin, “Snooker tournament!”

Roger whacked him again, “Feeding the ducks!” Fucking man was laughing at him, even as he hit again, “Pictures!” And again. “You got nothing!”

Roger took a step back, breathing slow but forcefully through his nose, Brian was just staring at the table being fuck all use again, “We found this about your person.” He drops a wad of cash on the table in front of him, “Bookies always keep a big float on a major race day and they get the bank to mark the notes, don't they, Kimmy? So we know you pinched this dough.”

“There you go. What a surprise. Didn't see that coming. I've never seen that money before in my life!” 

Still laughing at them.

“Guv? Can I have a word?” Brian drags him out of the room, closing the door behind him, “What are you playing at? Those notes aren't from the bookie's.”

“Worth a punt though. Look. When Trent and his boys hit the city, it's always a couple of jobs, bang bang, in, out. They've done one, we can stop them doing the other.”

“Great, oh great, a fit-up.”

“Freddo! Cells! I'm just trying to keep things moving, does it matter?” Roger looks up at him as some wardens come and get Trent out of the interview room (cupboard Brian insisted was an interview room).

“I'm not going back in that cell, it stinks. Put us in another one.”

“Well, I'll tell you what. I'll have a little think about that while you have a little think about where Wilson and Brixter are hiding, okay?” He launched out and punched him in the gut. 

Brian looks away, rubbing his head, “Nothing puts things right quite like a punch, does it?”

Roger gave him a mocking smile, clapping him on the back as he strolled off, another cigarette half lit in his fingers. Brian sighed, going up to where the cleaners were, Joe? Joe Fan… Joe something, a smallish lad that Freddie was friends with, he was pretty sure he was gay too, but surprisingly open for the era of history.

Or his imagination had decided to be nice to one of its made up characters.

“That's the second time this morning it's slipped off. I can't tell Peter it doesn't fit. Gorgeous though, i'n't it?” Joe was flashing his ring at Freddie, the small jewel sparkling in the light, sitting on the wrong hand but very clearly on the wedding finger.

An attempt at forever he couldn’t legally have… Maybe his mind hadn’t been so kind at all.

Or this was happening.

“Hey, sorry to be a bother. Can you clean out cell two, it's disgusting in there, its barely humane.”

“We don't do cells. WPCs do cells. Sorry.”

“WPCs?”

“Women's department, you know, the girls that help out?” Freddie told him, “Must not have them in Hyde, he’s the new sherlock in the ranks, J.”

“Well, I- I might be able to splash a bit of Dettol in there later. Is that all right, sir?”

“Yeah, that's... you're a diamond. It’s Joe Fansetti, right?”

“Fanelli.”

“Joe Fanelli, thank you, Joe. That would help me a lot.” Brian gave him a smile, “I’d better go get the Guv before he bites someone.”

Freddie laughed letting Brian head off, “ He’s a good one, not like John or Rog, not scary or anything, but he’s got all these theories and ideas, like Columbo.”

“Seems it,” Joe nodded, “Odd though.”

“Yeah, oh, the ring’s about to fall again. I'd take that back to the jeweller's if I were you. Bloody Phoebe just guesses at things. Get it resized.”

* * *

“Well, that was fun. What shall we do later, take a cattle prod to his testes?” Brian slammed the door to Roger’s office.

“All right, he called our bluff. The money didn't work.”

“You could try nailing him with some real evidence.”

“You wanna see evidence that will secure us a real conviction?” He reached into the filing cabinet and came up with a hand dripping in jewellery. “Aladdin's cave.”  
Brian eyed him expressionlessly, trying to mask the exasperation he felt as the blond excitedly dropped a bag of LSD tabs in front of him, “There's two hundred quid's worth of drugs here. We plant them on him, watch 'em grow into a big flower of justice.”

“For God's sake, guv… Let's not resort to this.”

“Gotta charge him today, Brian. Gotta keep that bloke off the streets.”

“This place is like Guantánamo Bay.”

“Give over, it's nothing like Spain.” The reference went straight over his head, “I'm not letting Trent go.”

“No, the judge'll do that, at the trial.”

“Don't have much faith in us, do you, pal?” Roger dropped the drugs, taking a sip of his whiskey,“Go on then. How do you do this where you come from?”

“Where I come from?” Brian blinked at him, did he believe that he had come in from the future?

“Yeah, Hyde, your old division, you brain donor.”

Oh, okay. “Well, in... "Hyde"... we don't traditionally keep acid and knocked-off bling in our offices just so we could get home early.”

“So you wouldn't have pulled him in?”

“Not without evidence!”

“Not even if you knew people out there were in real danger?” Roger leveled with him.

“People are always in danger, guv. One minute you're going about your business, the next, bang — taken out by a speeding car.”

“Well, I've taken that speeding car off the road. For good.”

“Course you would’ve.” Brian takes a breath.

Just another day with Roger Taylor, King of logic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!
> 
> Just a cheeky wee chapter since I haven't been able to update a huge amount (had to move back for Christmas so depressions spiked (yay!), but hopefully I can get some more of this out soonish
> 
> Love,  
> Pluto


	7. To The Seat With The Clearest View

“See you back here tomorrow.” Brian let Kim go, still in his god awful trunks, hopefully freezing in the afternoon breeze. God, he genuinely just thought that? He needed away from Roger for a while.

“Oh yeah?”

“When we've got more evidence.”

“Tatty-bye.” He gave Brian a hard squat on the arse, whistling as he left, all confidence about him, even if Roger was glaring at them both from the doorway.

“It was an unsafe conviction.” Brian turned to look at the angry git, “I'll level with you, guv. I don't know how long I'm gonna be here. But while I am… look, when we get him, it'll be watertight. And I tell you, I'll be the first to crack open the Scotch.”

“Are they all like you in Hyde?” Roger stood in front of him, breathing at him, clearly less than happy about the height difference, “Must be a bloody dangerous place.”

Roger shoved Brian back, storming back into his office, slamming every door on the way there, making sure they knew not to bother him with anything less than nuclear war.

Brian on the other hand, had other ideas: if he couldn’t find someone who knew what common sense and an idea of protocol was, he’d make one. He made his way back to the canteen, finding Freddie trying to make a crisp sandwich (of course he bleeding well was, it was the seventies, this day dream had all the lazy stereotypes he must’ve accumulated from old Doctor Who episodes and pedophiles that were still on the telly). “Need your help Freddo.”

* * *

“Can we do this somewhere else, boss?”

“Ignore 'em.” Brian shook his head, sending a hard look to the table across the room from them where John and some of the other officers were pissing themselves with laughter. “Fred. Look at me. I'm still your DI on this. Now, we're gonna re-interview the staff in the bookie's at Baker Road, so, make a list of who we've seen before.”

“Drag 'em back in, right?” Freddie had his notebook out, his first name written on the front in big flowery letters like a child at school, the word ‘Mercury’ underneath, Brian would have to ask him about that some other day. He skipped through the first few pages of sketches, everyone in the office, more often than not they were of John, but Brian noticed himself amongst the newer ones.

“Dragging is not necessary. We'll talk to them there.” Brian started to pick the actual burger out of the burger, offering it to his companion.

“Talk... there." Freddie made a bullet point, smiling at the offer.

“If you bring people into the station, they just freak out and they don't think clearly.”

“Yeah, but we don't want 'em thinking clearly. Not if we want to trip 'em up.”

“Fred, these are not suspects. These are witnesses to an armed robbery, ignore Roger’s methods for a moment.”

“"Witnesses... not... suspects." The second bullet point, more laughing from John’s table that made him flinched, suddenly Brian realised what was going on, how one way it was between Freddie and John… “There you are. Big letters.”

“And get IDs on Trent, Brixter, and Wilson.” Brian smiled, it was worth actually letting Fred know he was doing the right thing, corrective behaviour training almost, probably the only praise he’d get round here, “Get the faces out to stations, bus depots... even airports. You know, go national. Heathrow.”

“Where's that?”

“Heathrow? London.” Brian 

“London Airport? But that's not in our district.”

“Just get the faces out there.” Brian picked up his cutlery, putting some sauces on the chips, “We’ll be able to find them soon I bet, they can’t go too long without being discover-”

“Why've you put tapioca pudding on your chips?”

“Thought it was horseradish.” he gave it a smell, “You know, I don’t much like this era-”

“May!” Roger, as always, red faced and shouting, barreling through the doors, long beige coat already on, “Blag in progress, jeweller's, Bitman Road, move it!”

* * *

The car screeched around a corner, into the road, but they couldn’t get any further, the road blocked by a car park sideways, alarms already going off as they got out. 

“Get down!” Roger tugged them both behind the bonnet as a man with a balaclava fires from the shop.

The man came around to their side as the others ran from the shop into another car, money in hand. Brian didn’t know how to react, no one has a gun in the future, these sorts of things are for American films-

He feels Roger grab the collar of his shirt just as the bullet is fired to where he would’ve been, barely able to think before he’s thrown onto the back seat of a different car, Roger on top of him.

Brian covers his ears as the windscreen is shot out, more tyres screeching outside as the firing stops.

“See a car?”

Brian looks up tentatively, the gunman must’ve driven away, he couldn’t really sit up to check with Roger still on top of him.

“You breathing?” Roger finally moved to give him some breathing space.

“Almost, yeah. You?”

“Yeah…” Roger sat up completely, finally noticing the third person in the car, a young man slumped against the steering wheel, bleeding heavily… Joe… “Oh God.”

“Joe?!” Brian reached up to try his pulse, feeling it all too weak, “Joe, Joe!”

“Ambulance!” Roger shot off in a different direction, screaming more orders, they’d hurt part of his family, no hell would stop him now.

“Joe, stay with us now, help is coming.” Brian took his hand, “Just stay.”

“Just keep hold of my hand, love, just keep squeezing, that's it, good stuff.” Brian soothed, hearing Joe breath raggedly, his fingers only just holding back, “Hold on, for Peter yeah?”

“Peter…” He barely said it loud enough, blood dripping down his chin, “my… Peter.”

“That’s right, we have to get you back to him,” Brian nodded, looking outside, hoping for the sirens, “I promise you will.”

“May,” John chapped the window, “We should get him out of the car, the petrol tank is spilling out.”

“We can’t move him, he might have other injuries.”

“Well being blown to smithereens certainly won’t make them better.” John glared, opening the door and taking Joe out, carrying him to the pavement.

Brian followed quickly, pressing onto the wound to stop it bleeding more, now Joe was completely unconscious. Would the medicine of these times be enough to save him? He looked around for the ambulance again, still nothing, the officers were trying to keep people away, the shop owners trying to speak to them, Roger was holding Freddie, making sure he wasn’t looking at Joe…

Maybe he wasn’t so bad.

“Can you hear that?” John looked up, “Sirens.”

Brian nodded, hearing it too now, it had taken a long time, and it might still be too late, but it was something. 

“Okay, Joe, it's not as bad as it seems, I promise.” there was a few long minutes of nothing until the ambulance got it with a stretcher, slinging him onto it quickly, “Be careful with him, will you? His BP's plummeting. He's lost a lot of blood. Breathing's shallow. Think he needs saline. Did you hear what I said?”

“I'm not a doctor, chief.” The man shrugged as Joe was bundled into the back, “I'm the ambulance driver.”

Brian blinked at him as he rushed off to the hospital, blood still on his hands, what if Joe died on the way? It wasn’t like they were doing anything to stop it happening, the whole place was backwards, moronically backwards.

He turned to look at the others, John and Roger looked furious, Freddie was away by the end of the streets looking sick, pool of blood still on the pavement between them all.

“I want this mess tidied up tonight. And I want this cleared away.” Roger pointed to the blood, “I don't want any of him left lying on the street. Deaky, get rid of all these people.”

“All right, move away! Move away. There's nothing to see.”

“I'll wait until, um... Forensics…” Brian stuttered, suddenly staring at Roger's flat palm, diamond ring shining in the sunshine.  
“Here.” Roger said calmly, too calmly,”Slipped right off his finger.”

“He came to the jeweller's to get it… he was getting it resized…” Brian looked at Roger’s eyes, for a second he expected the blond to make some sick homophobic joke about it, that was certainly fitting for him, he was the type.

But no, no Brian saw fury of a different breed, the fury of someone who had nearly lost part of his pack, his family. It was then Brian fully understood what it was, it was all Roger had, the station, the people in it-

“Clean it up!” Roger grabbed his shoulder, knocking him to the ground in front of the blood on his hands and knees so that his face is only inches above it, “I want you to clean it up! He works at the station. He's one of us. And I want to be able to look his fiance in the eye and say you cleaned up every drop of his precious blood.”

“Get off me!” Brian managed to get upright, pushing Roger back, “This entire place is cracked! You can't blame me, you lunatic bastard! You were wrong! I didn't do this! They did it!”

“The diamonds they took were only in the safe for one day. They had to hit it today, we had Trent today, and you, YOU let him go to prove a point!”

“We had no evidence!” Brian screamed back, ripping his jacket off, kneeling back by the blood, angrily scrubbing at it now, throwing the jacket down after the red had soaked through to his shirt sleeves, “I'm better than any of this!”

“Says you.”

* * *

He’s back in Elton’s stupid pub.

He tilts his head back, listening to the radio quietly, knowing full well there was a bloodied shirt at home, and someone dying in hospital because of him.

“Doctor! He moved!” 

Brian opened his eyes, not reacting much more now, the radio was just playing mind games.

“Probably an involuntary muscle spasm brought about by dehydration.” He kept looking at it, not in the mood for this if it wasn’t going to take him home, “-what course of action to take. These cases are very complex. The body takes time to adapt. But not nearly as much time as the mind. Take his blood chemistry.”

“Yes, doctor.”

“He was given saline yesterday. It should have taken effect by now… Miss Johnson. Barbara. Won't you at least consider coming with me to Canterbury? You know how I feel about you.”

Brian shook his head as the radio went back to normal, Elton stood in front of him looking concerned, “Why does it have to be now, Elton? Why this particular year?”

“What are you saying, Darling?”

“'88 was a good vintage, decent music too. Year I graduated from the Force, 2015. Colour television. Central heating. It was like bloody Star Trek compared to this.” He looked to the ceiling. “Can I change it? I'll have the twentieth century please, quick as you like! See, I don't mind staying, if that's how it's gotta be, but — please can I have a year that's AD, as opposed to BC.”

The lights flicker above them, Brian sat up, was it working? Was he actually leaving? 

“These cuts are getting worse, you know, dear. Mr Heath had better sort himself out.” Elton shrugged, unaware of the dream he was slashing.

“Gimme a Scotch. Double, massive. Half a bottle.”

“Bri, you can't stay here.” Freddie seemed to appear from nowhere, “You have to go.”

“Great. No worries. Send me back.”

“They're coming down here to get bladdered. Rog finds you, the mood he's in, he-”

“What, what's he gonna do, put me in a coma?”

“Perhaps it's best you went.” Elton nodded, “You've got to make the best of things, my friend.”

“I'll make the best of things. Give us a bottle of house red, takeaway.”

“Brian, they’re coming.” Freddie warned again.

“You'd both better go the back way.” Elton added, rushing them to the door, just in the nick of time too.

“Elton, deck of cards and a bottle of blended.”

“Coming up, Guvnor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the late update, had to move back to my parents (not great generally) and had a bunch of exams to do, I hope this chapter is okay, as always, comments and kudos are so so appreciated, any questions can go down below or on my tumblr.
> 
> Love,  
> Pluto xxx


	8. And She's Hooked To The Silver Screen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hopefully that first few clues are coming in for those that are trying to work this out, nothing too obvious yet, but feel free to send in your ideas on what's happening!

“Are you upset?”

“I'm more than upset, Fred. I'm comatose.”

“I think you should go home.”

“Love to. Can't.” Brian dismissed, walking straight ahead.

“Give over! If we're back to that again, then prove to me that this is all rubbish. That the rest of us are all rubbish. Nothing but a stupid fantasy. Go on, throw yourself under a bus.” Freddie snaps, but grabs at his arm. He wasn’t all theorem he might actually try it, “Don’t. Doesn’t matter, prove it some other way… What about what just happened? Joe — that fake? Is he not real? S'pose right now, that'd suit you just-”

“Shut up.” Brian sounded more tired than he’d heard him, by no means as harsh as it was probably meant to be, but looking at him Freddie wasn’t even slightly offended, not when he was drinking from a cheap bottle of wine and still looking depressed.

“Let me take you home, Bri. Back to your fake flat.”

Brian doesn’t bother to argue, there's only a few hundred yards walk to his flat and they make it in silence, what happened to Joe lingering heavily in the air, even as they got to his front door Brian could sense Freddie was trying not to think about it too much.

“You know, I was thinking about what I'd do if I went back in time.”

“Oh, great.”

“You could put bets on things, couldn't you?” Freddie suggested, “You could tell people you know to stay away from things that ended badly for them, could make a fortune making music before it’s even written by the actual musicians.”

“Freddie, I wasn’t even born for another thirty years. Even my parents wouldn’t be able to do that.”

“I know you're trying to sort things out, but hiding in here, drinking wine, isn't gonna do it. You have to go back to work.”

“No.”

“Give it a day or two, talk to DCI Taylor.”

“I've got nothing to say to him.” Brian refused, playing with the keys to his door in his pocket.

“You went against him. I mean, if he had his way, from what I hear-”

“What?”

“I'm not blaming you.” Freddie clarified, looking straight at him, “You made a decision.”

“And Joe's lying in a hospital bed because I didn't listen to Roger Taylor, is that what you're trying to say?”

Freddie sighed, for all Brian couldn’t be more than a few years older than him it felt like they were on separate spheres. “I know people here are tight with each other, but they have to be. You have to believe in the people around you.”

“That would be nice.”

“Good night.” Freddie gave up, he’d check back in tomorrow.

* * *

Brian jolts awake, head swimming from the wine and guilt, it’s still too early to do anything, but somehow the tv is on again. The creepy test card girl is on the screen, something he remembers his dad telling him about, how you could still find it on modern tv’s. Modern… future tv’s, he’s still in the past.

He rolled over onto his side, having to curl up in the short bed so he doesn’t get cold, the tv still buzzing away but quietly.

“I'm sorry you're lonely, Brian.”

Brian screamed, lunging forward to the floor away from the voice, turning to see the test card empty on the screen, the little girl standing with the chalkboard in one hand and the clown in the other in his room.

“Are you really lonely here?”

“No no no no no no, I'm not listening.”

“Don't you think it can be lonely out there too?”

“Not real. You’re not real!” Brian covers his ears, eyes shut as he starts trying to back himself into the corner away from her.

“In the white room that's too warm?”

“Stop it.”

“Life goes on.” She continues, “But does it really go on for the sleeping man?”

“I'm not sleeping, I'm here!”

“And isn't it better here, where you can be busy?”

“Look, just ge- get out!” Brian knows he needs to calm down, but what did this mean?

“Do you not like me with my clown? I can see I make you sad-” she had him cornered now, still smiling as if he wasn’t having a panic attack “When on earth will all this end? I'm your friend, your only friend.”

“Get out!”

Brian jolted upright again, breathing heavily. He was still in bed, still in yesterday’s clothes and the tv was off, no creep girl anywhere… had that been a dream?  
Or had it meant something important?

* * *

Brian found Joe’s hospital room before too long, apparently he’d just missed Peter, but he could still visit. Joe was all wired up, monitors and lines and god knows what stuck into the still pale man, breathing through a tube because of him. Carefully Brian gets the ring out of his pocket, sliding it onto Joe’s finger - he’d have given it straight to Peter if he could’ve.

“It is a bit big, innit?” he comments, seeing a familiar blond enter out of the corner of his eye, “If you've come to interview her, guv, he-”

Roger punches him before he can finish, straight in the face with a smug grin painted across his own, “Oh, that feels better.”

“What on earth is going on?” A nurse barges in past the curtain, looking less than pleased at the scene before her.

They both produce their badges, both saying ‘police officers’ at the same time, although Brian mumbled his more than said it. Either way it sent the poor woman away quickly.

Letting Brian get his punch in - the fight continuing.

***

“I love this city, good old London town. Its mess. Its noise. Prozzies. Drunks. Stray dogs, little old men.” Roger stretched his neck, sitting next to him on the floor, both leaning on the side of Joe’s hospital bed, Brian holding a bloody tissue to his nose, “I know I'm not squeaky clean, nor is this place. The rest of the country couldn't give a threepenny bit about this town. The orphans take whoever they can get to look after them. That's me.”

“So you want me out now, yeah?”

“Are you joking? You got to put this right.”

“I only know one way to police.” Brian gave him a hard look.

“So do I. Joe's not giving up and nor should you.”

Brian nodded, even if Joe was made up in his head, he owed him this much. “We best get going, tell Fred if he visits not to stop talking to Joe, same for his parents and Peter.”

“He’s in a coma, he doesn’t know-”

“He might.”

* * *

“Right,” Roger had a confident air about him as he addressed their whole department, king of his castle, “let's pull in anyone who was in Bitman Road around one o'clock yesterday.”

“We have no ID on the getaway car, but I want you checking out waste ground, breakers' yards, landfill sites,” Brian added, “looking for a vehicle that's very recently been dumped.”

“Come on, men, what are you waiting for, a song and dance routine? Shift it out!”

“I’ve talked to everyone in the street, but it's like Whitby Fish Market out there.” Freddie came up to them after the rest had run off, holding out his notebook full of random bits and pieces on the people he’d interviewed, letting Brian flick through.

“Meaning?”

“Lot of clams.”

“Guv.” John hooked his head around the door, thankfully ending the awkward silence from the strange metaphor, “This lady has got an office overlooking the shop.”  
The four of them headed out, coming up to a scantily clad lady with what were obviously fake (and not very well done) boobs - not that it stopped Roger from having a look (Brian rolled his eyes, hoping if this was part of his imagination, he could at least be a bit less cliche next time).

“Hiya, love.” Roger grinned, not looking at her face, “Now, I don't want you to be scared, but um, get it off your chest.” Freddie coughed to hide this giggle, not making eye contact.

“I told you, I saw nothing. I can't see what good I'm doing here.”

“Now, listen, love, I'm the policeman, I'll decide if you're a help or not, okay? And we need witnesses, so, um... how else are we gonna get... abreast of the case?” That earned some more stifled laughter, even Brian was trying his best not to show it too much.

“Well, as they were running out, the first one tripped.” The lady told them, “That's all I saw.”

“Was he the one holding the bag?” Brian asked, trying to be professional, but an idea was starting to form too.

“I think it was, yeah.”

“Can you remember which hand?”

“Right.”

“Okay. Thanks for your help.”

“Come on, love,” John nodded to the door, “we'll get you on a bus.”

“Freddie, any joy with er, Forensics?"

“Well, it's tied up at the lab.”

“Sod it. Start threatening people with obstruction.” Roger decided, “Usually jogs a few memories.”

“That's likely to make people even more scared to come forward even if they do know something.”

“Well, come on then, Brainiac Brian.” Roger turned on his heel to look up at him, “Surprise us with your new way of policing.”

“That woman just said the first one to leave the shop slipped. Now, do you know why that's important?”

“No.”

“I do.” Brian held Freddie’s notebook open at a particular page, “The manager said the raider holding the back took off his left glove. So he could zip it up.” He watched as Roger glared, a beat later the glare intensified as he finally got what was going on.

“What?” Freddie blinked, “What’s happening?”

“We need to go to the jeweller’s. Time for some method acting”

* * *

“Fred, as you leave the door, pretend to trip,” Brian instructed, Freddie doing as he was told, “Stop… Where do you feel like putting your left hand?”

“Suppose this pipe.” Freddie held his hand out, it was the nearest thing to the wall he’d be able to hold onto, it was well within reach too-

“Don't touch it. Need to get it dusted for prints.”

“Yeah, but Forensics are tied up at the moment. Can't get down here for another three hours.” Freddie stood up straight, eyeing the food van at the top of the street playing it’s jingle, “Hey, you fancy a 99, boss?”

“Just get the prints, Fred. Deacon, help him.” Brian sighed, “You can get lunch after, I promise.”

Brian walked back to the car where Roger was sitting with a slightly less sour expression than he had before, cigarette hanging from his lips. From some lights he could be quite handsome, Brian supposed, only when he didn’t want to punch him.

“You just don’t stop, do you?”

“Neither do you,” Brian sat down in the passenger side, staring up at the velvet ceiling of it, “No way back to Hyde then.”

“No, I need you, God help me,” Roger told him, “You are actually okay at your job.”

“Hmm, ultimate compliment that,” Brian hummed, “You know, maybe that’s the way out, maybe if I save enough lives, mine will be worth saving? Maybe that’s how I get home, Rog. I just need to fix enough broken things.”

“That sounds like you’re getting above your station, you aren’t in charge,” Roger told him quietly, “You are part of a team, a dogsbody to me.”

“I think I preferred Cozy.”

“Who?” Roger raised an eyebrow, “I mean it, you talk about her, I promise I won’t piss all over the explanation.”

“Him. Cozy was a him.”

Roger was quiet for a moment, Brian half wondered if he was actually going to taunt him, “Was..?” 

“He died, a few years ago,”sort of, not for forty something years, Cozy wasn’t even born yet, that was something actually, maybe he’d survive now that Brian wasn’t in the future for him, “I didn’t do enough, I let someone get away.”

“So you understand why I want these streets clean, no matter what arms I have to twist.”

“I understand it, yeah. Roger, you’re a good man, deep down I think you might even be a great one. But you can’t just break the law you stand to uphold.” Brian shut his eyes a moment, trying not to breath in the smoke, “We want the same things.”

“I am the law, Brian. I do whatever I please,” Roger told him, “It’s all I stand for, you may be the same, when you’re not sprouting bollocks.”

Brian laughed at that, maybe he was just losing his mind.

“Sirs?” Freddie tapped on the car door, holding the now sawn off piece of drainpipe with a triumphant grin on his face, eager for approval. “If you can't take Mohammed to the mountain…”

“How many prints have you put on that pipe between you?” Brian groaned, holding the bridge of his nose.

“Bugger.”

“Right.” Roger started the engine, “I'm gonna pull Trent in.”

“His lawyer will throw the book at you, guv.” John pointed out, a little red faced from what had clearly been his plan, hacksaw still in hand, quickly chucking the drain pipe at a rag and bone man’s bin.

“I'll plant a blood-stained dagger on him.” Roger told them, “I'm gonna nick him for every unsolved murder in the division, including the Maple Lane Poisonings of 1883.”

“All right, beat a confession out of him. It won't be worth the bus fare to court.” the curly haired man emphasised.

“I've never fitted anyone up who hasn't deserved it.”

“Roger,” Brian glared, suddenly spotting the young lad pushing the dented and battered rag and bone cart up the street, “Hold on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that, if you have asks/ requests head over to my tumblr or drop them in the comments, I'll update this soonish, and thank you so much for all the comments and for reading, I know it's probably not the easiest/ most exciting thing to keep up with!
> 
> Love, Pluto xxx


	9. But The Film Is A Saddening Bore

“Hang on, police.” Brian held his badge out to the lad with the cart who ignored him, Roger leaving his car to join him with a disgruntled look, “Hold it there.”

“Oi!” Roger’s pitchy high voice managed to get him to turn around, the bulky hearing aid now obvious as it made a horrid high pitched tone, “he said stop right there, deaf-aid!”

“What's happened to your cart?” Brian asked, trying to be as clear as he could, God knows how much those old walkman looking things actually picked up, or if it even worked-

“-cart? Nothing.”

“You were here yesterday at the time of the robbery.”

“What's your name?” Roger barked at him, making him jump rather than answer, “What- is-”

“Leonard Pitt.” He stuttered, backing away from him into his cart, the metal making a noise from it all. Brian took his arm before he could fall completely, steadying him.

“Did someone run into your cart, Leonard?” He pointed to the red scuffing on the side of the dent, “Is this car paint? That's recent.”

Leonard nodded, a fearful look in his eyes as they pulled him towards the police car, the car radio whining loudly.

“Oi, what the fuck?” Roger slapped the top of it.

“It’s his hearing aid,” Brian told him, trying not to frighten the boy more than before.

“Well, rip it out of his ear before it ruins our radios.”

“He's a key witness. So could you treat him like a person, Guv?” Brian swatted his hand before he could do anything, “Do you remember people? You used to be one.”

“Not bad for you, almost a backbone.”

“Thanks. Okay, you were in Bitman Road, at around one o'clock. A car draws up…”

“Ford. Granada.”

“Registration?” Roger barked, the radio still complaining in front of him.

“Eh... I dunno.”

“Sorry, was that like, you saying the letter E, and you don't know the rest... or was that like you saying "Ee, I dunno"?” he mimicked the boy’s hull accent, looking unimpressed with Brian’s witness.

“Did you see the men in the car?” Brian tried.

“No.”

“Wow, you are dead impressive, Leonard, you know that? No, you are, you're-” he started mouthing the words, voice going in and out of hearing range on purpose, Leonard adjusting a button on his hearing aid until Brian gave Roger an elbow to the ribs.

“Take your time, Leonard, take your time. Now, there aren't any skid marks on the road, so if these guys were going fast enough to lose control…” he tried to get Leonard to work, even despite how obviously scared he was, “Look, one of ours was shot, he’s in a critical cond- oh… Oh. They hit you. They hit your cart deliberately, didn't they?”

“He didn't have his mask on. He was talking to the other two.” Leonard admits, eyes like saucers, “I saw his face.”

“Him?” Roger takes a photo of Trent out of his jacket pocket.

* * *

“Mrs Trent,” Brian stuck his foot into the doorway as she tried to slam the door on them, Roger inside her flat making a mess, objects flying about everywhere, “why don't you just tell us where we can find your nephew?”

“Piece of scum bastard scum! Dare you! Dare you treat me like this! You filthy, stinking, pig-sucking, rotten, bleeding filth! You're filth! Rotten, bloody filth! Your mum's filth, and your kids are filth!”

“Look, if you help me, then I can call him off - Roger you don’t need to be in her underwear draw.”.

“You filthy pervert nonce pig!” The woman snatched the knickers up from the floor, throwing them back at the draw.

“Look, why don't you just give us a name, love, eh?”

“Pub called The Coachman!”

“Smashing.” Roger grinned, stopping his ‘investigation’, flinging the knickers back at her face, “Thanks for your help, love.”

“You're a set of bastards, both of you, do you know that-” Brian let the door slam as they left, not even thinking about it, no question of how far he’d strayed in so little time.

***

“Now, I know some of you don't like the way I do things, and I know some of you blame me for yesterday. But if we all pull together, we can put Trent and his gang away forever. We have a witness who can ID Trent and place him in the car. So we’ve pulled him in. But we do it by the book.” Brian made sure the whole office was actually listening this time, only moments before John brought in Trent. Roger went off with him to the office, the rest dispersing to carry out their orders.

“John doesn't like me, does he?” Brian looked at Freddie.

“It's just that he was going for Inspector, and then when you turned up, it sorta…” Freddie cut himself off once he realised he was getting nowhere with the lie, “no, he hates your guts, boss.”

“What about you, Fred? Do you think I'm going about things the right way?”

“Er, dunno, I suppose.” He looked relieved to hear the door open again and Leonard stood sheepishly in the corridor.

“Okay, Leonard. Now this bloke won't be able to touch you. He'll be standing behind special glass, so he won't even be able to see you.”

“Eh, boss?” Freddie shook his head, following after them to the office where they would be doing the lineup. “I really don’t think that’s what’s going to-”

Too late.

The three of them walked into the office to find five men standing there in plain sight, Trent in the middle blowing Leonard a kiss as he entered, Roger and John looking pretty satisfied with themselves.

Brian couldn’t think of anything to say, as if the lad wasn’t scared enough that now he has to say it in front of the man. Not that he had time to; Leonard just shook his head, muttering a quiet ‘none of them’ before taking off into the distance.

“How’s he meant to trust us now?” Brian snapped, glaring at Roger again.

“Gain his trust? Who does he think he is? No, I'm gonna throw the book at the little gobshite.” Roger crossed his arms, “See how he likes being banged up for obstructing the course of justice.”

“What's the point in terrifying him? He needs to feel secure.”

“So he wants to feel all nice and safe, well, tough! He's witness to a robbery.”

“What if we offer him immunity?” Brian took a breath, trying to calm down.

“From what, measles, mumps, what?”

“Witness protection.”

“Right now, the only person he needs protecting from is me.”

They turned to see Leonard standing on the other side of the door watching, backing away as Brian made his way over.

“Never trust a copper,” Leonard shook his head, “‘I’m going to throw the book at the gobshite”, that’s what he said.”

“You can lip-read,” Brian realised.

“I thought you said it would be safe.”

“Look, I’m sorry you had to hear that-”

“Technically he saw it,” Roger appeared unhelpfully at his side.

“I need to know what you saw. Now, you're gonna have to trust me, okay? I'm not like the rest of them.”

“I wanna go home.” 

“Let me show you something.” Brian told him, nodding for him to follow, eyeing Roger to make sure he wouldn’t. He led him through to the reception, filling through until he found a piece of paper tucked away behind it all, “This is a hospital injury list for Joe, take a good look. This is what he did . He's still critical. Now, if you can formally identify Kim Trent as the man in that car, we can arrest him, and his accomplices, and then that's it. They'll be inside. I can guarantee you total protection… yeah? Good man. Now, I need you to take a ride with me and see if we can find Trent and identify him.”

“No, he’ll see me.”

“Relax, relax. I'm talking about travelling incognito.”


	10. For She's Lived It Ten Times Or More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!
> 
> Hope all two of you that read this actually enjoy it lol, sorry for the late update, it's kinda gotten side tracked by a few other works.
> 
> I'll let you read this before going on about anything in the bottom note!

Brian sat beside Leonard, trying to get him to relax in the ice cream van. It would help, incognito like he’d promised. He parked up by the side of the road where Kim lived, knowing it was sunny enough that the windscreen would glare off of anyone who looked in - safely allowing them to look out.

They had the jingle playing, Roger - God help them - sitting in the serving part of the van, eating by the sounds of it.

“I just point?” Leonard asked quietly, still shrinking away from the glass.

“You don't even have to point. If you see Trent, just tap the side of the van.” And Leonard did. He tapped the side with no hesitation whatsoever, “That's a formal identification. Thank you.”

“Can I have an ice cream, please?” Brian glanced into the hold of the van, seeing a group off little girls with pigtails and pocket money coins in hand-

“And me!”

“Sod off,” Roger grunted, flinging a flake at them, flipping the vicks at the first one, ice cream in his free hand.

Brian rolled his eyes - Roger was a complete cunt at times - but they had the evidence they needed.

* * *

“Freddie!” Brian jogged the last few steps to catch up with him in the office corridor, “Leonard is our star witness in the Bitman Road robbery. He needs looking after tonight.”

“Oh, aye? Don't like the sound of that.”

“Just look after him 'til morning. I'll stick a CID car outside as well. It'll only be a few hours.” Brian promised, “Then, first light, bring him into the station.”

“Double bubble, darling?”

“Double time, yeah.”

“Why me?”

“I need somebody in the house I can trust.”

“Dumping the deaf boy with Freddo?” Roger startled him, appearing with Leonard behind him, “Good luck.”

“Come with me,” Freddie smiled a little tensely, not wanting in on this particular argument, leading Leonard away hopefully before they started tearing chunks out of each other.

“He may be a laughing-stock to you, but he's all we've got.” Brian tried to keep him voice stern, “Now, we'll try again tomorrow.”

“You're betting on a handicapped who'll bolt before he gets to court.”

“I told him we'd stick a car outside.”

“You're taking the mick. I mean, "witness protection"? That's only used by blokes who testify against the Mafia!”

“What if we stick John there instead? Or with him? He’s stronger than Freddie. Load the car with butties, I’ll buy him a couple of pints next time. Come on, guv.”

“Wish I were bloody deaf!” Roger narrowed his eyes, giving the impression he was going to keep arguing with him for a moment, “All right then. But he won't like it.”

* * *

“Delta Four. Are you there, John?”

“Yeah. I’m parked up outside his flat now - Fred’s inside, boss.” John’s tried voice came through the radio.

“Happy?”

“Cock-a-hoop.”

“Just make sure you're visible at all times.” Brian set the radio down, sitting back to take a breath. He noticed movement in his peripherals: Roger putting his coat on, “Are you off?”

“Pub.”

“'Course. Silly me.”

“Big darts match tonight against "C" Division.”

“John and Freddie are at Leonard's.”

“Isn't he a well-protected bunny.” Roger seemed quiet for him.

“So, uh... big match?”

“It's not your bag.”

“Probably not.” Brian nodded, standing closer than he’d intended - but Roger didn’t back off.

“Fine. Super-duper.”

* * *

“920 to Alpha One.” Brian had almost dozed off at the desk, radio by his head when it crackled to life, Freddie’s voice making him jump for a second. “Look, it's probably nothing, but there was a noise round the back of the flat. Can't see anything, but stuff's been kicked over out here.”

“Can you go out and see?” Brian asked, frowning: wouldn’t John have seen this?

“Going round there now…”

“I’ll John to look too, that’s what he’s there for.” Brian changed the radio channels, coming up with static. He switched back to Freddie’s channel, “There's no answer.”

“Brian, I'm in the street and there's nothing out here.”

“Where's Deacon parked?”

“John? I dunno.”

“He’s in a car right outside. Should be right near you now.”

“No cars out here at all.” Freddie answered, “Hasn't been a car out here for the last hour.”

“Bastard!” Of course he’d fucked off, no concept of importance about the case - just a lousy babysitting case, after all, the lads were down the pub. Of course he’d left.

“I'm going back inside. Leonard's a bit rattled.” Freddie told him, opening the door loud enough for the radio to pick up, “Leonard? Leo- Ah!”

“Freddie!?” 

“Urgent assistance required! Backup - I need backup, Brian!” Freddie was running by the sounds of it, “Leonard, wait!”

Brian bolted across to the switch board in the reception by the office, changing the dials about to access all of the police radios currently active within their limited range, “This is a call to all units. Officer in urgent need of assistance. 56 Diduick Road on the Charter Estate. All units respond immediately! I need officers mobilised to key positions....”

His eyes flickered to the maps on the wall, what were the key positions? The whole city had changed since he’d known it, since he’d come to know it. He had no idea. He had to go get Roger, he knew the streets.

Brian grabbed his jacket and the radio, racing down towards the car park, making the short journey between the station and the pub quicker by car.

He stormed into the bar only minutes later, helpfully finding John by the dartboard. “You were supposed to be protecting Leonard.”

“Oops.” John smirked, “Fair cop.”

“They've got him.” Brian glanced angrily at Roger too, “And Freddie's there. On his own.”

Roger nodded, throwing a final dart before walking out, pint glass still in hand.

* * *

“He's gonna go east. That's the quickest way out of the estate. We can get bobbies to cover the junctions leading out.” Roger pressed his forefinger onto the places on tha map he was on about, John already on his way back to the location, “And tell all units they were last seen driving a black Ford Granada. Any luck?”

“Still dead.” Brian shook his head, moving the radio about but still only getting static. “Don’t redirect any units now, guv. Response directives have to be clear and precise.”

“This is an emergency.”

“Especially in an emergency! The units know what they're doing, they're covering the exits. If you send them into that maze, willy-nilly, you will lose all cohesion.” Brian emphasised, “Look, if he goes east, where does that put them?”

“Anywhere out here.” he pointed to an industrial patch by the side of the estate, hardly connected on the map, just disused factory land.

“Okay. I'll try and get hold of him and Leonard. Get uniform to hold back. And keep those exit junctions covered!” Brian started running out of the building, turning before he got to the door, “Wait for my signal before you move the other units in or you will lose Trent.”

“Yeah, all right, but take one of the unmarked cars.”

* * *

“870 to Alpha One,” Brian parked, getting out into the cold of the night, “I'm outside the old waterworks now.”

“What's happening?”

“I think they're inside.”

“Freddie’s radio is still dead.”

“Are you holding the units back?” Brian asked, its not like he’d been lied to his face already that night,

“I said I would.”

“Okay, the last thing we need is Trent feeling cornered, especially if he's got Freddie and Leonard. I'm going in.”

Brian entered through the doorway, staying low and close to the wall, hiding behind some of the large piping that was pinned to the walls. The radio in his pocket made a few blips, making his struggle to try get it out - he couldn’t be heard.

Before he could though, it started screaming with feedback, his fingers stumbling around all of the buttons before he found the off switch - a hand came down on his shoulder.

"Shit!"

The curly haired man fell forward, handing on his front with the assailant on top of him - cheap women’s cologne filing his lungs- Freddie. It was Freddie. “Are you all right? Are you hurt? I didn't know what happened to you.”

“The battery's out on my radio.” He got off of him.

“Where's Leonard?

“I lost him. They might have got him. They've got all sorts of weapons and they mean business.”

“Leonard's smart. If they haven't found him, he'll be hiding. We need to get to him first.” Brian told him, standing up, “No...wait a minute…” His radio blipped again with the same feedback, getting louder and louder as he got closer to the far wall, screeching again once he was standing in front of a heap of old boxes. A heap of old boxes and the badly hidden hood of someone’s coat. Brian extended his arm to grab it, pulling out their witness from the mess.

“Leonard! Oh, God, you had us worried!” Freddie pulled him away from it further, dusting him off a little.

“Turn your hearing aid down.” Brian told him, “And come on, down here, someone is coming.”

The trio ran up the metal stairs of a fire escape, ducking down under the railings to watch a car pull into the space outside, Trent and one of his mates (helpfully carrying a length of chain) stepping out, a third getting out of the back. Brian watched as Trent loaded up his pistol, disappearing into the shadows.

“We're in the waterworks.” He whispered into the radio, “Send all units. Guv..?” Brian waited but there was still no answer, “Roger?”

He gets no reply.

One of Trent’s henchmen came back into the room - armed with a cricket bat now, looking around as if he’d heard something, prompting Brian to nod towards the door - they had to leave.

Slowly they stepped through, Brian letting Leonard and Freddie out first, not daring to start running until they had turned several corners.

“There's a way out!” Freddie redirected them to the exit signs, “Come on-”

Freddie had opened the door to Trent, looking straight down the barrel of his gun.

“Drop the gun.” Brian told him, stepping in front of the other two.

“Or what? You're gonna arrest us? You, the fag and the spastic?”

“Yeah. For armed robbery and attempted murder.” Brian nodded, “The place is surrounded.”

“By who? They've left you on your own.” Trent pushed them further into the wall, “And from what I've seen, your DCI'll be glad to get shut of you.”

“Very probably.”

“Bet you wish you'd left us in that cell now.”

“No.”

“You know what, Mr May? I'm gonna be leaving you 'til last.” He cocked the gun, “That way, you get to see what happen-”

Brian jolted back into Freddie as Trent’s body crumpled at his feet, Roger standing behind him with a smug expression on his face and his fist still up in the air.

“You're nicked, Trent.”

“Guv!” John called over, the other two thugs already handcuffed, “Got em.”

* * *

Another identity parade in the canteen. 

This time - after surprisingly little nagging from Brian, there were bright lights pointing at the men to blind them.

“You don't have to say anything, just point-” Brian smiled as Leonard cut him off, finger separating Trent off easily.

Job done.

Brian stepped out with him, clapping him on the shoulder, “You didn't have to do that. Thank you.”

“You said you'd protect us. And you did. You all did.”

Brian nodded, watching him go. He leaned against the wall, briefly watching as Trent was led to the cells in handcuffs, ready to be prosecuted in the morning. Roger walked out then, seemingly to watch the same thing, but instead started slowly down the corridor towards him.

“Look, I was thinking. I know having me here is difficult for you.” Brian told him, still looking down the now empty corridor, “What if I went back?”

“To Hyde?”

“Is that possible?”

“I'll get on the blower.” Roger went over to the phone, putting it up to his ear.

“You can do that? You can just... send me back to where I came from?”

“Yeah…” Roger nodded, tapping at the prongs on the top of the phone. Brian shut his eyes, was this it? Was he actually going to go? “Hello, is that the Wizard of Oz? The Wizard'll sort it out. It's 'cause of the wonderful things he does.”

Brian rolled his eyes, turning to leave.

“You were transferred here, Brian, at your own request. I didn't ask for you. You wanted to come.”

* * *

“And the doctors say you're off the critical list now, so... you'll be out in plenty of time to enjoy that wedding of yours.” Brian told Joe’s still unconscious body, at least it had some colour to it now. Peter had gone and gotten the ring resized himself, the thing now stayed on his finger, that’s what Freddie had told him. Brian held onto his hand for a moment, looking down to see it, instead his hand came away bloody and red. 

“I don’t… I’ll get someone.” He stood up quickly, looking around the now silent ward. Above him the lights started to go out, the darkness coming down the corridor towards him, machines starting to buzz, like the whine of a defibrillator being charged. He ran to the doors as they slammed shut in his face, nothing he could do to open them.

“Hello? I can't open the door, can somebody help me?” He heard that same electric noise, a heartbeat loudly pulsing in his ears, “Hello?!”

“What've you done?”

“Nothing!”

Brian looked around, not seeing any women talking in the dark hall.

“Then why's his life support shut down?”

“It's not my fault.

“My God. Who's that?” Brian called into the room, completely blinded now.

“Look. It's his IV. It’s gone loose, it's leaked down the bed.” Brian heard the voices say, now flashes of bright light sent him to his knees, “It's gone into the electrics.”

“Help me! Somebody open the door!” Brian couldn’t even find it now, feeling around the floor for anything to hold onto, “I need to get out!”

“He's in distress, get the doctor!”

“This is what happens when he's left on his own too long.”

“Please, somebody help me! Open the door!” Brian sobbed.

“Hold on, Brian.” The voice said his name? “Let's get this back in for you.”

“I need to get out, help me! Help! Roger!” Brian called out again, suddenly seeing visions of something else, a woods, thick with trees and mist, a child crying, wisps of blond curls running away.

A gun shot.

“I'm switching it back on. There.” The same voice continues, piercing through the vision. He saw Roger, smiling and laughing, the child running towards them.

Then darkness.

He opened his eyes, the hospital was back to normal, leaving him crying and panting on the floor.

***

“Hey, you.” Elton grinned when Brian entered his pub, Roger and the others already there. “Looking rough, stay in here a while, man. Shake yourself down. A scotch?”

Brian nodded, smiling as he settled onto the stool. There was a lot to think about, but the visions seemed to consume him.

“Be cool. You deserve it. You've been busy.” Elton slid him the drink, shaking off any attempt at payment.

“You in, May?” Roger called him over from where they were playing cards, “50p gets you a chair.”

“I'm gonna take a leak.” John got up, deliberately knocking into Brian as he left, the atmosphere still awkward between them.

“Sure you're in?” Roger asked him, patting the chair to his left.

“Deal me.” Brian dropped his fifty pence into the ashtray in the middle, Roger smiling at him for once, and in return? He smiled back.

Maybe this was the blue moon where he didn’t feel like being against Roger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read it?
> 
> Good, so the question is, do you guys have an opinion about whether or not this should become an mpreg story? I don't know how to explain what I'm going to do just yet, but if anyone fancies adding an opinion I'd be grateful.
> 
> As always, shoot any questions or asks to my tumblr, same name yada yada, and thank you so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya,
> 
> yeah, another fic off of my tumblr shorts (@Honey-Rae-Pluto if anyone has requests or prompts, or fancies reading any more of my work), publishing it hopefully in its entirety.
> 
> For clarification, the ages are a bit mixed, so Freddie is the youngest at 21, then Brian is 24, John is 30 and Roger is 38.
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys this, I'd love to see some feedback on it and I hope to add to it soon enough with some real crimes to solve (they'll probably follow the pre existing ones, but if you wanna have a shot at solving them feel free!)
> 
> Love,  
> Pluto xxx


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